Seed of the Void Ch. 03

"What was that? What was that light?" Myla still was in a panic, her eyes wide as he stood over her menacingly.

"Shhh, here, this is for you."

Isaen held the necklace out, holding the loop open above her dark head as he beckoned her to put it on.

"But I don't... want a necklace, why do I-- well.... I guess it is really pretty."

Her mood changed so quickly that Isaen was astonished. From a panic about being impregnated to suddenly calmer than a dove, Myla's mood had shifted entirely about the idea of what had happened. Even her affinity towards the necklace itself changed as she toyed with the white jewel in her hand, while her hand rubbed her stomach affectionately where his white ooze filled her.

The witch didn't lie after all. Perhaps there was something to all of this. He wouldn't have entirely believed it until he tried it. But just one look at the once reluctant t tavern-maid said something about the process.

"It is very beautiful, thank you."

Isaen cupped her chin in his hand and leaned in to give her a long kiss. She obliged, though her reservations about the act of sex itself were still there. He wondered just how far this jewel's magic went. Did it make her like the idea of sex? Or just the product?

There was only one way to find out.

As Myla fumbled with her new necklace, admiring the jewel as the slow gooey feeling between her legs settled, Isaen stood up from the bed and wandered to the table. He admired Myla's nude body as he parted with it, just how her feminine form looked relaxed and seeded, there on the mattress as she had little care for how far her legs were spread. It was enough to make any man happy for a lifetime, but Isaen had the auspicious fate of not being content with any one woman.

The thought crossed his mind long enough to dredge up a memory, which he quickly buried. No time to reminisce.

Opening his sack, he rifled through the neatly packed contents Calista had left for him. A few hidden pockets would surely be the perfect place to hide a few vials of Vitality. Of course, he had to be sure it was not the Sablevine, that would be an unfortunate mistake. Knowing the witch, she would have put them right next to each other in hopes Isaen made such an error.

Atop the contents of the sack was a parchment, a violet wax seal holding together its folds with the emblem of a star and staghorn to match Isaen's amulet which was conspicuously tied to the note.

Looking over to Myla, as she was still toying with her new necklace and rolled around in the bed, her womb baking with his seed, he tore open the seal of the note.

"Dusksire, I assume you didn't choose discretion. Don't linger for long, always remain on the move, less suspicion grows and our detractors find you.

-C"

Undignified, Isaen felt the parchment the note was written on begin to turn to ash as it stung his hand with flame. He quickly tossed the heated remnants to the floor and whipped his hand about to relieve the pain, shaking his head as he muttered his distaste for his new handler.

"Blasted witch." He grabbed the vial from the pack, carefully reading the label to ensure it was not the incredibly deadly poison. Of course, it was simple to tell, a portion of Vitality had an eerie green color and a much lighter consistency, while the Sablevine was like a black jelly.

Popping the cork from the small palm-sized vial, he debated just how much to take. Certainly, he didn't want to be walking around the tower and to his ship with an inconspicuously hard cock, but he certainly wanted to give Myla a bit more of a run-through for his money. In the end, he decided on a small sip, to test just how powerful it was.

The liquid, itself, had a rather salty taste and had a similar feeling to being jolted with the stamina rod by Calista or the stamina spell from that old coot Cicero. However, it was much more concentrated in his loins, and sure enough, he felt a tingle in his sack that radiated into his manhood as it began to grow stiff once more.

With a smile, he nodded his head and returned to the bed where Myla lay passively. Standing above her, cock erect, he waited for her to notice to test her reaction and just how much power the crystal had over her.

"Sire?" she squeaked, as soon as her eyes landed on the once again hard cock.

"Time for another round, lass." He grabbed onto her meaty thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

Her face was dismayed as she was pulled towards him, eyes wide as she shook her head.

"But we have done the deed already!"

So, the jewel did not make her want it any more than she did before, it simply ensured her loyalty to the necklace and child it seemed.

"Oh Myla... I said we would only do the basics; I didn't say how many times. I have hours to spend 'til my ship leaves. I need a warm berth until then."

He spread her wide and plunged in deep as she yelped, his thrusting much less careful than before as she had already been warmed up. Isaen intended to experiment with this one as much as he could, and to derive as much enjoyment as he could.

---

"Bring the bow to the fourth opposition and steady until range."

Upon this command, the long-pointed ship approaching the lonely dark tower began to rotate upwards in the silent blackness of the void. It almost mimicked the position of the Voidhold, though in juxtaposition, it was small as it came to a stop vertical in orientation.

Elegant white curves and gold trimming formed into a long and sharp appeal made the Elvish fleet as much art as function. The simple curves of the hull were joined in such a clean fashion that never displayed a rivet or joint outwardly, unlike a dwarvish ship with a utilitarian ghastliness of bolts and joined metal about it. Engraved upon the stem of the ship was the word 'Blacktide' in Telerin, the language of the Ethereal Elvish Empire. The Blacktide was an elvish cruiser, a medium-sized warship often sent on expeditions alone.

"Estel-loch, we have arrived. We shall keep our orientation until you find it proper to do otherwise."

Dressed in a flowing red jacket with gold piping, a fair-skinned elf stood formally at attention before his superior and bowed his head.

"Very well, Fae-lon, prepare a barge." The superior elf, with a notable scowl about him, confirmed their arrival with the master of the Blacktide, by placing his hand across his heart. Looking down his pointed elvish nose, he sized up the elf's ability as Fae-lon, having been given purview over the Blacktide for the duration of his mandate as Inquisitor.

The features of the elvish face were much like their ships, sleek and refined. Their detractors might say something to the effect of 'seen one elf, seen them all'. But to the Elven kind, they were the superior form, standing a head taller than most other creatures in the void, and being renowned for their beauty and agelessness. Elves had a noted pinchiness about them, especially the Estel-Loch known as Marthion.

"It will be done, as you have declared it."

The Fae-lon bowed once more and spun around on his heels to address his orders to the crew.

"Harmonize our cycle with the tower, and prepare a barge for the Inquisitor."

All was done as was commanded on an Elvish ship. Their eternal nature meant that the elves had mastered their craft of void sailing through the centuries. Though the crew of the Blacktide would be young with respect to Elvish society, to a mortal crew they were ancient.

"Are you displeased, Estel-Loch?" The Fae-lon turned to his superior, with concern of his noted scowl.

"No," a nasally breath huffed out.

"Forgive me."

"No, no need. My displeasure is evident, but not with you or this vessel."

"Understood."

"It is simply that I loathe such places." He stared through the massive round window of the bridge at the Tamberan Voidhold ahead of them. "It reeks of mortal sin, of corruption and unwashed inferior creatures."

The Fae-lon nodded his agreement. "I don't envy your task."

"Our task, Fae-lon. You have loathed the misfortune of visiting such a place before long."

"Of course, Estel-Loch." He bowed his head once more.

"Masters, the barge is prepared." A lower Maethor (approximately a lieutenant) announced with a low bow.

"I take my leave then." Marthion placed a palm upon his heart and dismissed himself from the bridge.

With a streamlined dance of orders and actions, a barge was ready in the hold of the Blacktide for the Inquisitor, which he boarded without delay. Joining him, a troop of Rondirs were armed with elegant Elvish armor and weaponry as they prepared to escort the Inquisitor to the tower before them.

Like a white glint, it traveled the space between the belly of the Blacktide and the Tamberan Voidhold, oriented in a fashion that it could find the opening to the harbor at the top of the tower with little delay.

The black void of stars soon melted away to black stone as the tower engulfed them and the barge found a mooring. A welcoming party awaited their arrival as promised by the authorities of what was regarded as a ramshackle by the Elvish crew.

Disembarking the barge after it safely moored to the side of the rock amidst a magical field that kept the vacuum of the void at bay, Marthion exited first. He imposed himself on the welcoming party, much taller than their captain of the guard in his mundane red cap and his rotund body.

"Welcome, milord, to the Tamberan Voidhold, I am Captain Larbund, and I bring welcome from the Castellan, who is at this time otherwise occupied. He is most disturbed by these findings and wishes to express his full sup--" The captain gulped, as he looked up at the elf who loomed over him with a blank expression of disgust.

Bringing a cloth to his nose, Marthion took a whiff of the perfume he had laid upon it, a welcome distraction from the stench of these mortals.

"Enough pleasantries. Your report, captain." Marthon's guard, wielding their glowing sabers and spears encircled the small contingent of tower guards on the wharf, standing at attention as they collectively imposed themselves.

"Y-yes...after our initial report to you, milord, we uncovered a lab of sorts in the catacombs of the tower. It is a den of dark magic." The captain emphasized his find as if to take credit for a great deed.

"So, you have contaminated the scene with your filth."

The captain turned his eyes downward.

"What of the mage?"

"We found no such mage when we searched, it was abandoned."

"No doubt your clumsy nature alerted him."

The captain sputtered and tried to protest the harsh criticism of his work, but the Elvish Inquisitor simply raised his hand dismissively.

"What other news?"

"My men have discovered some of the mage's associates had visited an inn on the port level of the tower, the 'Board and Bard' as it is known. They are raiding the establishment to bring these vermin to justice as we speak."

A huff of his nose, Marthion knew it was his only lead.

"Take me."

---

Myla lay coated in sweat and cum, panting and exhausted on the bed as she clutched her new necklace. She had fallen asleep after their latest bout, the girl had been run through dozens of times, as Isaen tested just how far the potion of vitality would take him.

Isaen had noted that each time he came inside her, the necklace flashed green once more. He wasn't sure if that was extra points by any means, but if it were, then he was far ahead of the game with Myla.

She was a good lass, submissive, strong, and with her own energy. It was a shame he couldn't keep her; she would make a good woman to have around, no doubt. As he watched her sleep, still panting and murmuring lewd things, he wondered if he'd ever see any of these girls again during this job. Cicero's words about an empire, where he would be the forefather of, seemed so far-fetched and unrealistic. He didn't know what it meant, how that would look, or if he wanted to be a part of it.

Such a thing would most likely be way above his penchant for political intrigue. He was a simple wanderer, not a court-player. He pictured his mage children infighting and vying for some magical throne they would create. Such a world would be terrifying, as these magical beings held power and sway over the void.

Shaking his head, he stroked Myla's hair while listening to the soothing sound of her breath. Returning to reality, he felt it best not to think much of it, rather enjoy what he could before inevitably they tossed him out for being useless. He watched her sleeping in the nude next to him, her breasts and hips of particular interest as he ran his fingers along them.

He wanted to be as quiet as possible, letting her sleep all of this off in a rare vein of kindness from a normally cold man. But as he gave her some time, a different noise from outside of the room awoke her.

Many footsteps, hard ones, metal ones, began to sound against the floorboards of the Board and Bard as some shouting slipped through the cracks in the floor. Isaen's interest was piqued, instinct said to put his pants back on. Myla sat up; her face concerned as she pulled a sheet of the bed to cover her form.

"Isaen?"

It was the first time she had called him by name.

Lacing up his trousers, he cupped her chin in his hand and brought her face close enough to kiss softly. Their lips played a moment, Myla, to his surprise, very respectful to the affection.

"Fret not lass, it is time we part."

The sounds of hard footfalls came up the stairs of the inn. Several pairs of feet no less, and the clattering of chainmail sounded just outside their door.

Isaen had gathered his newfound horde of trinkets and donned his cloak. There were no windows in this room to escape, so his choices were few.

"Lass, which side of the room faces the street?" He stroked her dark black hair one last time.

Myla gripping her necklace in one hand and pointing with another, pointed to the wall perpendicular to the fireplace.

"Thank you, beautiful... for everything."

Myla swallowed nervously, as she watched Isaen pull out a contraption from his sack. Something blue and glowing was in a tube-like metal cylinder he inspected.

A fierce rapping on the door made Myla jump.

"Open up! By dictate of the Castellan!" a guard's raspy voice shouted, as he continued to bash on the door. There was little patience for either of the occupants to open the entryway, the guards seemed to be shoving themselves against it to force the barrier open.

Grabbing the purse of gold, Isaen looked at it one last time before tossing it to the girl bashfully covering herself with the bedsheet.

"Keep that close, lass, I wouldn't show them ya have it, either. Lawmen can be as much a thief as any."

The gold sack jingled into the lap of the naked girl, still spoiled from the fucking she had been dealt.

Myla nodded to Isaen, watching him cross the room and raise the odd-looking metal tube level with the ground, pointing it towards the wall adjacent to the street.

Before Myla could ask where he intended to go, a massive blast rocked the room. The girl screamed as the wall to which she had pointed, disappeared in a blue flash.

"Discreet, indeed." Isaen looked at the handcannon and the hole it had made in the Inn's wall, as he holstered it and looked back to Myla one last time.

A nod to the girl and a running start preempted the sudden entry of a half dozen guardsmen in red caps. Each was as surprised as the next to find half the room gone and a nude girl, blushing, on the bed. Isaen had cleared the opening and landed on an outcropping of rock that ran across the top of a herb merchant's emporium.

"Halt! Halt!" the guards cried from the opening, too intimidated, by the gap Isaen had cleared, to follow.

But Isaen had no intention of stopping, not until he was on a ship off this blasted rock.